Mormon To Married In ManhattanMormon To Married In Manhattanhttp://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2012-04-23T14:09:40ZSquarespaceChapter 12http://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2010/1/12/chapter-12.htmlMonicaBielanko2010-01-13T03:46:55Z2010-01-13T03:46:55ZThen Father Time
won’t you do your best
To mend
A broken heart
--Marah

Excerpt from my journal:

October 5, 2004

I, Monica Danielle Butler, at 27 years old, married Serge Christopher Bielanko yesterday at 5:30 in the evening. Nobody knows about it except for us.

He flew out here Monday September 27th. We had a beautiful week. And yesterday, we woke up, went down to Crossroads Mall to return some pants Serge had bought earlier this week. After that, we started looking at rings at this kiosk. We bought two silver bands for ten bucks apiece.

Then we drove to the Salt Lake County building to see about a marriage license. To get married at the county building was a two week wait. They gave us a list of retired judges who still perform weddings. We went outside, about 3:30 on a warm, fall day, sat on the freshly cut lawn and talked about what we wanted to do.

For me, despite how rushed and ridiculous it sounds, marrying Serge Bielanko is what I was born to do. Nothing I've ever done in my life has felt more right. We made an appointment for 5:30 with a judge in the city of Sandy, went back in and bought a marriage license.

Then we drove to Sugar House (a Salt Lake City neighborhood), Serge bought a coffee, we walked around a bit, talking, full of adrenaline. Then we drove home and changed our clothes. I put on a sundress and put on Max's collar as a garter. We drove to Rite Aid and bought a disposable camera and three postcards. One for Serge's Mom, his Dad and Dave.

We drove to the judge's house in Sandy. Beautiful evening, along the rim of the valley, autumn leaves on fire. The judge's house was this beautiful cottage type with ivy crawling up the sides. We went inside, the judge was there along with his wife and a neighbor, who were our witnesses. We signed the certificate and the ceremony began

It was better than anything I imagined. I was afraid and shaking but Serge kept his arm around me, kept squeezing my hand. Then the judge told us to face each other. As soon as I could look Serge in the eyes I felt okay.

We took our vows, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, then exchanged rings. "With this ring, I thee wed". The judge said you may kiss the bride in French, which is interesting because Serge's dad is from France. We kissed, my blood racing through my veins and it was over.

I hugged the judge and the witnesses, we took some pictures and off we drove. We put on Marah, Phantom Eyes. Serge's brother Dave wrote it, and it was our way of having him there. Plus it's one of my favorite Marah songs.

We both just kept staring at each other.

"You're my wife!"

"You're my husband!".

We stopped and took some more pictures then came home and changed. We went out to dinner at Red Lobster (Serge had a gift certificate, ha!) then we came home, made love for the first time as man and wife... and went to bed. AND I WOULDN'T CHANGE A THING!

I will write more tomorrow. I just wanted to write about the actual events while they are still fresh in my mind. Serge is gone, back to his tour... America, Europe. I won't see him for a month. More tomorrow.

I am Monica Bielanko! And nobody but Serge and I know...

Oh My God.

**********

Why did we keep it a secret? We simply wanted to own the knowledge ourselves for a bit. We wanted to bask in our marriedness without the judgement of brothers, mothers and ex-lovers. On paper it seems hasty and impulsive but it felt anything but. I felt as if I had spent my life preparing for that moment. Both of us, from the night we met, knew this was what we wanted. We knew what we were doing and we didn't want anyone ruining our happiness with their skepticism.

So we got married and we kept it to ourselves. Because it wasn't about anyone else but us. And we wanted it to stay that way until those close to us became accustomed to our relationship. We didn't feel as if we owed anyone the news until we were ready to share it. And when we did share it - family and close friends were at the top of the list.

Getting married is one of the biggest steps a human being can take. The amount of time Serge and I knew each other before tying the knot is no reflection upon how seriously we did (and do!) take our vows. In short; this marriage wasn't a lark. We didn't get hitched for kicks. We were serious about our love and our new life together. The past was where the past belongs; behind us. Ahead of us stretched an exciting new future. Together.

Regardless of our excitement at finding each other against all odds, we knew those around us may be concerned with such a seemingly rash decision. So we planned on keeping our secret until we were settled in New York City. We thought it would be a kick to throw a housewarming party in Brooklyn and then, during the toast, casually mention that oh, hey, by the way, we got married six months ago.

We should've known...It wouldn't turn out like that.]]>Chapter 11http://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2010/1/12/chapter-11.htmlMonicaBielanko2010-01-13T03:41:05Z2010-01-13T03:41:05ZIn mid-September we said goodbye, but not before purchasing Serge a ticket to Utah. Despite being embarrassed in front of my mom, I craned my neck to catch a last glimpse of Serge waving madly from his brother Dave's stoop and then cried all the way to the airport. He would be following us to Salt Lake City two weeks later. I could hardly wait.
Little did I know his second visit to Utah would change my life dramatically. Forever.

Monica Misses Serge
Sunday September 19, 2004

Hello there Baby!
Here I sit.. Back in this chilly newsroom. But I am warm - despite the cold, knowing that you are out there somewhere in Brooklyn, having drinks with your brother and Kate, and hopefully missing me.

I want to thank you for the best week in my life, so far. I didn't think being with you could get much better than the time we spent crossing Texas together, but it did.. Can your visit to SLC top NYC? Jesus, I don't know but I'm damn sure going to give it a go..

You are the strongest, smartest, funniest, sexiest, most creative man I have ever met. The more time I spend with you, the more you astound me as you let your personality loose. It's ridiculous for me to even attempt to convey to you with mere words, the emotions that rocket through my body when I conjure up images of our time together this past week; you above me, me above you, slowly riding you to orgasm. Exchanging glances on the subway, circling the top of the mist shrouded empire state building, taking in the amazing view with you by my side, talking about life as the sun slowly sinks below the Manhattan skyline in a blaze of glory..

Serge... be with me forever. Let's make this work. It's the greatest life experiment ever. How much can you love another human being? How hard can you try to make them feel like the most important person in the world? How far out of your way will you go to make it work? What does it take to make the greatest love story ever? What you and I share is better than any of the best. Fuck Bogart and Bacall, forget about Sinatra and Ava Gardner, Clark Gable or Carol Lombard. I can't keep my thoughts off you, I don't ever want to keep my hands off you. We will pave our own relationship path... taking cues from nobody but each other. I trust you implicitly. I trust you because you are you. Please don't ever doubt me. I am yours and only yours and cannot fathom letting another man into my world. I belong to you.
Always.

Monica: In a dark control room at FOX 13.

SLC Itinerary
Monday September 20 2004
ITINERARY FOR SLC TRIP

Monday:
11:55pm - Plane lands
12:00am - Meet up with Monica
12:01am - Fuck like mad in the back of the Durango
This will last until Tuesday morning.

Tuesday: (Monica takes day off)
Sleep in, until we feel like getting up.
Upon waking: Get coffee into Serge ASAP! (Am looking into ways to accomplish this intravenously to save hassle of leaving bed)
Lie in bed languidly until late afternoon, perhaps a bit of pot smoking, a bit more sex... some napping and maybe chinese food.
Late afternoon: fiery sex until dusk.
Dusk: We emerge, sleepy eyed into the cool autumn air for a walk with Max.
Evening: Bubble bath with Monica, wine and maybe Jagermeister. That's right, I said Jager! (Max may get kinky and try to watch: he enjoys laying on the bathroom floor and barks if left out of any bathroom festivities be it bathtubbing or teethbrushing)
Late Evening: Movie at Brewvies so Serge can booze AND watch a flick.
Nite Cap at The Tavernacle and a chuckle at the dueling piano men
Home for slow, tantalizing sex and sleep.

Wednesday:
Wake up: More sex
We grab coffee and head up into Millcreek canyon for a morning hike with Max.
12 noon: Home for quick shower and then it's off to work for Monica.
1:00pm: Serge explores SLC...
6pm: Monica meets up with Serge for lunch/dinner
7pm: Serge comes to FOX 13 to meet the gang and see the newscast
10pm: Perhaps we head to Liquid Joe's to see what interesting bands are playing. Maybe not. Maybe we rent a movie and head home.
Midnight: More sex and sleep.

Thursday:
Must assess options. Will get back to you with further itinerary info soon.

To Be Continued...

SLC PUNKS
Tuesday September 21, 2004

Monica, Monica, Monica,

It's a sunny day here in Philadelphia and I need a shower badly. Just back from the gym: felt good to just sweat out some of last weeks beers and burgers, you know? Dammit, I am missing you something fierce. And frankly, I don't think I should keep logging onto someone's wedding photos like a freak so that I can see your smile, dream up your laugh....but so it goes.

Well, I am often fond of saying "This time next week I'll be_______" since my life really does seem to put me in a new place each week...or each day even. Still, this time its exciting and exhilerating to imagine that "This time next week I'll be with you in SLC." God, it will be a grand flight, knowing that on the other end you await. I can just picture that empty midnight airport now: the long spooky halls of glass and chrome, the artificial air they pump in, the final moments before I see your face. Believe me...it cannot come fast enough.

On the internet this morning I ran across SLC's weekly paper website and then across its issue naming the BEST OF SLC 2004. SHIT.....your damn FOX news program was all over it. BEST EVENING NEWS as well as some of the best evening news anchors, both of whom I have heard you say are your girlfriends or at least people you get along well with!!! I guess your duty is too behind the scenes for them to give out an award.....but they did mention that you guys love to play up the celebrity gossip angle sometimes so I took that as a sign that you made it in there somehow!!!!

Seriously though: I was so proud and excited when I saw those things. And after listening in on you in the control room last night (by the way that's was SOOO SEXY...hearing you throw out commands like a Civil War General!) I know how superb you must be at your job. And I know it might not be your true calling or what you end up doing forever, but it does warrant that I tell you how much I admire your dedication to bringing yourself up alone these last 10 or 12 years.

Also, I should mention that I am in love with your bodacious mind.

In addition, I should not fail to mention my pure addiction to your sensual body.

Ok...I'm gonna call you up as soon as I can get my act together here today. Band is rolling in in the next hour and we have a rehearsal planned for this afternoon, so I'll call you as soon as I can. Even if its just for a moment so that I can selfishly hear your wonderful laugh and speak your lovely name.

Oh yeah.....send me some more itinerary! That shit is so cool. I have printed out so many articles about Mormons and SLC from the net that I should probably get Paul a new pack of paper.

Love,
serge

SLC ITINERARY CONTINUED
Tuesday September 21, 2004

THURSDAY 30th
9:00AM: Serge awakens to Monica doing naughty things to his lower half.
The naughtiness continues for as long as possible.
We load Max into the Durango, grab a coffee, then head to Tanner Park so Max can make his social rounds and take a swim.
We chat by the water and watch the sun come up over the mountains, which are ablaze with orange, red and yellow leaves.. Max splashes around and barks hello to old acquaintances.
11AM: Drive to downtown SLC for a stroll downtown. Check out Temple Square (Mormon Temple, you have seen this from that webcam) the damned Beehive House and all the other Mormon sites.
12 Noon: Head over to Crossroads mall. Serge has an appointment with Liz from Bellezza for a haircut (really, you do)
1PM: A freshly shorn Serge drives Monica to work and is on his own until 6pm. If he is extremely handsome after the new haircut, he is required to go directly home and stay there!!
6PM: Serge has lunch/dinner with Monica then heads over to The Broadway to take in a movie.
9:PM: Serge drives back to FOX and hangs out with Monica for newscast.
10:PM: Drinks with the gang at Green Street (Thursdays are Karaoke Nights)
MIDNIGHT: It's over to Golden Trails for a bit of pool and strippers.
Home for Sex!!!

FRIDAY:
MONICA'S DAY OFF!!
6AM: Head South to Monica's hometown of Orem.
7AM: Trade cars with Elaine (Mom) and we're off to Vegas!
10AM: Serge gets pleasured on the road
11AM: Round 2
12noon: Round 3
1PM: Roll into Vegas and check into hotel
1:01PM: Sex on hotel bed in front of big fuck-off type closet door mirrors (MMMmmm)
Brief nap, then into the tub...More sex.. the soapy, sudsy, awkward positioning in the tub kind...
4PM: Head to the nearest and cheapest buffet to load up on shitty Vegas food
5PM: Sparkling drinks... Sparkling conversation... Sparkling companion...
6PM: The grand tour of Vegas nightlife begins!
ONE CANNOT PLAN A NIGHT IN VEGAS..MUST BE SPONTANEOUS!
WHO KNOWS WHERE WE WILL END UP!!!

TO BE CONTINUED...

ITINERARY CONTINUED
Wednesday September 22, 2004

SATURDAY
And so it goes... A bleary-eyed, hair dryer hot, Saturday morning in Vegas. WE WHAT? We got married!!! Holy shit. Do you remember saying I do? Serge!! You forgot! How could you? Actually, just kidding.. We didn't get hitched.
11AM: Monica wakes up Serge with a steaming cup of coffee, a cheese danish, and a really intense blow job.
11:30AM: A VERY wide awake Serge then steps into the shower Monica has started for him.
11:35AM: Serge soaps up, but before he can rinse, he feels Monica's naked body pressed up behind him. Rock hard nipples, carving through the suds sluicing down his beautiful back... Hands reach around to grope his muscular chest... Tongue explores the sensual curve of his kneck, his earlobes, licking 'round to his rugged jaw line, onward, to his lucious lips. Tongues dance in the wild wet as Serge's hands slide slowly down...

Wait! This is an itinerary.. Not soft core porn!

12 Noon: We head over to the New York, New York hotel for a spin on the roller coaster.
1:00PM: Stop for bagels, cream cheese and salmon and toss around the idea of really getting married. Do you dare? Should we do it?
2:00PM: Play a couple slot machines for kicks then sneak into the ladies room for hot, sweaty sex in a stall.
2:30PM: We head out into the arid Vegas heat, and meander down the strip, toward the Mirage and Treasure Island.
3:00PM: The pirate show begins at Treasure Island. We check that out, and decide to take in a movie.
6:00PM: Hungry. We split an ice cream cone and wander on down the strip in search of entertainment... We saunter through various stores... buy a magnet for Serge, a patch for Dave that says "Sin City" and decide to head back to our room.
7:00PM: We lay in the tub, rinsing away our "sins", listen to the news on television, and discuss various things... Monica brings Serge a Corona with lime... and Serge tells Monica stories about his life before he met her.
8:00PM: We decide to catch a cab to "Cheetah's", Vegas' premiere strip club.
10:00PM: Fairly liquored in a private room at Cheetah's. Hey, We're in Vegas, may as well do it up right! Monica has ordered Serge a lap dance. A very nubile, brunette seductress currently stands in front of Serge, who isn't quite sure just how to behave. Can he enjoy the lap dance his girl ordered for him? Or does he have to monitor how much pleasure he derives from another woman in front of Monica??
10:05:PM Monica watches Serge squirm a bit before stepping in and taking care of the situation.
10:06:PM Serge now watches as the brunette beauty slides her hands beneath Monica's skirt, and proceeds to work her way slowly up Monica's quivering thighs.
WAIT! Why do I keep digressing into porn??? Told you I'm a sex junkie over you!
Nevertheless, our night progresses... and I can't tell you what cums next. After all - what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

To be continued...]]>Chapter 10http://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2010/1/12/chapter-10.htmlMonicaBielanko2010-01-13T03:32:48Z2010-01-13T03:32:48ZStill, I am fully aware of how we just need to be cool, enjoy NOW for NOW, laugh together, see some sights, make out if we wanna, and see what happens. Life is scary...and that's a good thing, I think. Otherwise, we'd all live lives of safe cul-de-sacs, fern bars, and tepid passion. We are two people who don't want that for ourselves.........and then we met, one night, in the oddest of ways.

I'll take that for now. And I hope you feel the same way......

Text me if you hit the bar with your friends, ok?

Serge

I'm Coming!!!
Thursday September 9, 2004

Hi!

It is 4:20 (how 'bout that?!) on Thursday. By tomorrow at this time I will be in Philadelphia. Your hometown! How crazy is that? If you would have told me a month ago I would be headed to Philly, I'd have never believed you.

I can tell I made you nervous today, what with me being anxious about the trip and all. It's just so damn overwhelming. This thing, with you and I. Most of the time I think it's the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and will be the best thing that will ever happen to either of us. Then, about 5 percent of the time, I kind of freak out. Why do I freak out? Not sure. Afraid one of us will be disappointed with the other and be afraid to talk about it. The inevitable disillusionment that comes with being in a relationship. I don't want that to happen! I want to be excited about you, and us, forever.

And I wonder what the fuck I'm doing throwing my mom into this mix. What am I doing messing with the delicate balance that you and I have created this past month? Fuck... It's all so crazy. But it's an adventure, and what happens, happens. I know you and I feel the same way about this. We're overwhelmed, anxious, excited, scared... and just waiting to see what happens next. I can't wait to see you. Inexplicably, I feel safer with you than with anyone in the world... and I've only know you a month. Serge!!! We are so crazy. I love you and I will see you tomorrow night! Jesus! Tomorrow night is almost here.

Me

Visiting Serge in New York City was unbelievable. I had never been further east than Colorado. Suddenly, I'm flying into JFK, hailing a taxi into Chinatown and taking a bus to Philadelpia to catch a Marah show. And my mom was along for the ride.

Because my mom had never traveled, because I desperately wanted her to meet Serge, I brought her along. Call me crazy...

We spent the first few days wandering around the storied streets of Philadelphia. At night we watched Marah play in front of a hometown crowd. Mom fell instantly in love with Serge. He's a charming bastard, that one. From Philadelphia we traveled to New York where Marah put on yet another raucous show and then it was on to Princeton, New Jersey for still another gig.

Immediately after that last Marah gig Serge's brother Dave went on vacation and Serge, my mom and myself were left to utilize his Brooklyn apartment as we saw fit. We did everything. Serge's rolodex of historic knowledge came into play and we were given a tour of the greatest city in the world, a tour that would have cost a bundle had I not been fucking the tour guide. And fuck the tour guide I did. The best I had engaged in thus far in my 27 years.

The only interruption - the occasional text from Caroline.

"Why is she so upset?" I asked. "I thought you said she's seeing someone in London."
"I think she is. She's just mad that it was me who finally ended it... It's an ego thing. But she'll be okay."

Serge didn't contact Caroline. He let her vent via several text messages and hoped she would move on. And he was right. The texts stopped. Caroline faded into his past, where she belonged, and we were able to enjoy the greatest city in the world without interruption.

I loved to follow my man as he authoritatively navigated through confusing subway stations and then cling to him as the train picked up speed. I remember holding tightly as the world raced by, my hand tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck where he was sweating in the humid August weather. I leaned in and breathed deep, knees nearly buckling from the sheer joy of being in lust... and love. Another vivid memory: standing atop the Empire State Building at night, wind whipping our hair as we took in the vast expanse of the greatest city in the world, the lyrics to Pogues' Fairytale of New York echoing in my mind.

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night

In mid-September we said goodbye, but not before purchasing Serge a ticket to Utah. Despite being embarrassed in front of my mom, I craned my neck to catch a last glimpse of Serge waving madly from his brother Dave's stoop and then cried all the way to the airport. He would be following us to Salt Lake City two weeks later. I could hardly wait.

Little did I know his second visit to Utah would change my life dramatically. Forever.

To be continued...

Homage to NYC:

]]>Chapter 9http://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2010/1/12/chapter-9.htmlMonicaBielanko2010-01-13T03:21:49Z2010-01-13T03:21:49ZNow the sun is slowly hopping down through the branches of a tree across the highway, like an old tired bird getting ready to roost for the night. I am tired and kind of hungry and wearing my 76ers shirt, smoking only my 2nd of the day. I'm writing terribly run-on, senseless sentences to you on this late summer evening and trying to tell/ask you to please be patient with me, as you have been already. Because I am so astounded by you...and I wish I was this letter, unwrapped by you today and held in your lovely hands. Inches from your wonderful face.

Serge

Just Another Email

Saturday, August 28, 2004

What to say... What to say...after a week like I've just had.. I don't really know. It's all so mind boggling to me. Every facet of this entire situation just blows me away. From the fact that, despite all odds, we managed to meet each other in the first place.. to the texting, to my mad dash across 4 states (like we said.. the big fucking western kind, these ain't no Rhode Island like eastern states) just to see you for a short time. And oh boy, the seeing you part!

I feel like we have been friends forever. I feel like I've been walking down streets holding your hand forever. I feel like we've been making love forever. It's such a tricky situation as it stands.. You, and your unfinished business.. It leaves me not sure how to behave, how often to text/call/email you. I don't want to be an extra burden in your already complicated love life. I want to be someone you are excited to hear from. Not another difficult situation you are confused about. And every time we talk, I don't want it to always be about heavy relationship stuff. I want to gossip about celebrities, and hear your tour stories and Roger Daltry infomercial impersonations....

So, the ball is really, mostly in your court. I am always here for you. I will be your friend forever. I can't imagine not being close to you in some capacity. You are the most amazing person I have ever met in my entire life. You fascinate, enchant and inspire me on levels I haven't even begun to tell you about yet. Serge... Just take your time figuring your life out. It's the most important thing you will ever do. Follow your heart and do what you gotta do. Thank you for what was perhaps the best week in my life... So far.

Monica: Feeling a bit lonely back in her big empty house in SLC

The next day I received a call from Serge as he was preparing to do a sound check in Kentucky.
"I talked to Caroline."
He had cried. Caroline had cried. Four years is a long time to know someone. In the end, though, they both knew it was over long before Serge called her that last time. During the call and a subsequent email, he had thoughtfully explained to her that he wanted her to be happy and he wanted to be happy and so he thought they should really move on. Anti-climactic really, as both of them had already been seeing other people for quite some time. I was happy because Serge was happy. He said the phone call went well and he felt good about what was said.
"I honestly think she's relieved." He elaborated. "And I am too."
I was relieved as well and was excitedly looking forward to my very first trip to Philadelphia and then New York City to meet up with Serge at the end of his tour.

HERE IT IS!!!!
Wednesday September 8, 2004

Hello Lovely Monica,

Just got done looking at all the photos you sent; they came thru super-clear. Damn, you look great in them....I am tempted to print a few out and take them back to my hotel and have a bizarre "date" with them. I'll try and refrain.

I suppose you're still bored over at work, but after tonight.....you're outta there for awhile, so relief is imminent.Please don't be afraid or too nervous about seeing me, Monica. I know how frightening this all is in a way because I'm feeling exactly the same ( even though I try and act like I'm not!). Just spending some time together is really important right now. I already love you in quite a few ways: uber-thoughtful, sexy, well-read, intelligent, creative, ambitious young lady comes into a freaked-out rock'n'roller's life at just the most interesting time and guess what? She is gonna get LOVED!

Still, I am fully aware at how we just need to be cool, enjoy NOW for NOW, laugh together, see some sights, make out if we wanna, and see what happens. Life is scary....and that's a good thing, I think. Otherwise, we'd all live lives of safe cul-de-sacs, fern bars, and tepid passion. We are two people who don't want that for ourselves.........and then we met, one night, in the oddest of ways.

I'll take that for now. And I hope you feel the same way......

Text me if you hit the bar with your friends, ok?

Serge

To be continued...

]]>Chapter 8http://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2009/12/3/chapter-8.htmlMonicaBielanko2009-12-04T04:08:18Z2009-12-04T04:08:18ZThe intense emotions we were experiencing with each other and our desire to share our innermost thoughts and feelings so early on in our relationship provided the proper sign posts that would lead Serge and I from the messes with our exes to a future without the soul-sucking drama we had been halfheartedly engaged in before meeting each other. Neither of us were in love with our exes, we ultimately realized. Our toxic relationships were bad habits - addictions - and we needed some serious rehab. But together? Or on our own?

August 30, 2004

Dear Monica,

Today, on the road between Dallas and Little Rock, I drove us in our van through the towns of FATE, HOPE, and FRIENDSHIP. The first was in Texas, the latter two here in Arkansas. It seemed funny to me to pass through places with names like that, especially since I find myself at a point in my life where FATE AND HOPE seem to be swelling up around me and inside me more than they have in a long, long time. As for FRIENDSHIP, well, that's just always important, isn't it?

So here I sit on the elevated roof deck by a swimming pool overlooking the highway passing by the William Jefferson Clinton Library - the sun is setting, very bright here, but setting - as I write you the first letter I will ever send your way. I have been thinking about you nearly continuously since you left me in Austin. And while it is true that it all DID seem like a dream... the invigorating and somewhat daunting reality is that it was all so very true. So real. We really did it. Over and over again in my mind I keep flashing through certain moments from the time we spent together. One minute I see your smile in the darkened back of your truck, your roughed up hair framing your face in the weak light of the hotel parking lot lamps. The next minute I hear you call my name as I walk away from the Austin hotel having missed you by the pool. I hear you call me and I turn and am stunned by this gorgeous woman coming up behind me, pursuing me.

Life is so damn perplexing sometimes. NO, a lot of the time. Yet somehow it rarely fails to offer up justice and reason when people believe in what they're doing, have faith in their hearts and minds. All of this sounds a bit corny, I'm certain, but I need to explain to you - repeatedly - how strangely I'm believing in all of this meeting you and spending time with you and kissing you and falling for you. There is no off switch in life. And even if there was I'm sure I would not touch it.

Remember that time we were waiting for a few Mexican bats to put on a show for us? I have thought about that evening so much lately. Monica, I can't tell you how often I have longed to share something - anything - be it silly or fun, whatever, just something that I could do with a girl who would genuinely like it. And me. That evening as you smiled and laughed with me as we sat in the Texas grass and the ants bit your smooth, sexy legs, that evening will forever be marked in my mind as the beginning of something really special to me in my life. where it will lead no one can say yet. Still, I have a feeling that for a long time to come a certain group of bats might hold a really high office in the chamber of our hearts!!!

Now the sun is slowly hopping down through the branches of a tree across the highway, like an old tired bird getting ready to roost for the night. I am tired and kind of hungry and wearing my 76ers shirt, smoking only my 2nd of the day. I'm writing terribly run-on, senseless sentences to you on this late summer evening and trying to tell/ask you to please be patient with me, as you have been already. Because I am so astounded by you...and I wish I was this letter, unwrapped by you today and held in your lovely hands. Inches from your wonderful face.

We were supposed to meet. So if it works out with us, it will be amazing, if not - you have inspired so much inside of me, and I will remember you forever.
Monica: On a rainy Monday morning in SLC

When I get home a day later there is a message on my cell phone from Serge. “I am in love with you. I want to be with you. Please don’t be with anyone else ever again.”

We spend our days texting each other and I stay up late nights, waiting for the phone call that would come as he settled into each hotel room after a sweaty couple hours spent on stage. His band moves on to Dallas and up into Arkansas, I think. One night he tells me he plans to call his sometimes girlfriend in London and break things off for good. He suspects she is seeing someone else anyway and thinks that, like him, she'll be sad, but mostly relieved.

"We still talk. Out of habit, not love." Serge speaks in conflicted tones, his voice spray-painted in the blacks and blues of a beaten up coupling. "I did love her once, I think. Or the person I thought she was, anyway." Here was a man struggling under the weight of failed love, gearing himself up to cut all ties and to once and for all let go of the four miserable years he spent trying to maintain a mismatched coupling.

I sit in shocked silence as he tells me story after story filled with violence, rage and frustration. Their relationship had been conducted through a constantly cycling series of brutal fights and break-ups which were subsequently softened by exchanged emails and the long distance between London and Philadelphia, their respective hometowns.

Yet, despite the anger and violence Serge and Caroline managed to maintain some semblance of a relationship because they'd each built up this false notion of a passionate, transatlantic love. And especially because they didn't have to deal with each other on a daily basis.

I listen to Serge recount his relationship and then reveal my own war stories of dysfunctional love. I had become entangled in a debilitating drama of my own ever since my previous boyfriend, Andy, had gently explained to me that I just wasn't The One.

By the time I met Serge I was floundering. Trying to move forward but still fully susceptible to the strong emotional currents continually trying to drag me back to Andy and the deep end of the ocean. And so I could commiserate with Serge, could understand his love/hate relationship and his desire to be finished with Caroline and the simultaneous pull of some sort of dysfunctional relationship with the woman who had caused him so much emotional anguish.

The intense emotions we were experiencing with each other and our desire to share our innermost thoughts and feelings so early on in our relationship provided the proper sign posts that would lead Serge and I from the messes with our exes to a future without the soul-sucking drama we had been halfheartedly engaged in before meeting each other. Neither of us were in love with our exes, we ultimately realized. Our toxic relationships were bad habits - addictions - and we needed some serious rehab. But together? Or on our own?

To be continued...

]]>Chapter 6http://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2009/11/8/chapter-6.htmlMonicaBielanko2009-11-09T00:25:08Z2009-11-09T00:25:08Z“I can’t believe you’re here.” He says in that deep, gravelly voice of his.
“Me neither.” My voice is shaking and my legs feel as if they’re going to betray me at any moment.
“Want to drive to Austin?” He asks.
“Yes.” I say simply.

The nine hour drive to Austin is long yet it goes by in a snap. He has abandoned his band in favor of making the drive with me, in my car. We spend the entire drive talking about everything and nothing. Smiling shyly at each other at each new discovery.

At the end of that day we pull into a hotel parking lot across the street from where the rest of the band is staying and check into a room. I will never forget those first few moments in that room. We stand there awkwardly, facing each other. Without driving and the road as a buffer we are suddenly shy. Now, there is nothing between us.

Serge steps forward and pulls me into a hug. I standing there feeling the world crash around me as I deeply inhale his smell; some kind of soap, cigarettes. I see the way the hair at his neck is slightly damp in the humidity, curling into his neck. We breathe together there, hearts pounding.

We spend three days in Austin, Texas. During the day we explore the city and people watch. At night I go to Marah shows and engage in a frenzied musical orgy, a repeat of their Salt Lake City performance, only this time with ten times the number of people in the audience.

That final sultry, summer morning we’re standing dejectedly next to my truck saying goodbye.
“There are no rules. You do what you’ve gotta do. Follow your heart. You’ll know what’s right for you. I’m not going anywhere.” I say with uncharacteristic maturity.
“I’m just so confused.” He answers.
“This is good then. You’ll have time to think. I’ll call you in a couple days.”

I am in love. Deeply, unabashedly in love. I know in my heart that I will end up with this man, whether it is now or in a year. This new feeling of certainty blossoms in my chest like a blooming rose, slowly but surely unfurling it's tender petals. I can be patient.

I drive home through beer colored wheat fields and skies the kind of blue all other blues secretly wish they could be. I am astounded at the left turn my life has taken. Two weeks ago I was bitterly disappointed, wondering it this was all life had to offer. I’d never felt matched with any of the men I’d ever dated. Nobody had every really understood me, nor had they tried. In one night Serge got me better than anyone on the planet ever had. I've never believed in love at first sight, chalking it up to the stuff of movies, a director's wet dream dream, a writer's fantasy. I hate romantic comedies, always feeling like I am buying into some false notion of reality.

But it happened to me.

Still. There is the sometimes girlfriend in London.

Monday August 23, 2004

Dear Serge,

Hello! How are you? I figure you rarely check the email, so, despite the fact that I want to type your way at least every hour of the day, I try to keep myself in check so you don't have miles to wade through when you finally get around to logging on. It's hard to know just what to say to you...because I want to say so much, but I also know that you're a bit confused and I don't want to overwhelm you. I will say this: I have never met anyone like you. If I could give someone specific instructions on the type of person I'd like to end up with in life - you would be the end result.

Perhaps I'm being dramatic, because it seems as if I barely know you...but I feel like I do know you in the ways that matter.. You mentioned on the phone that you are "fucked up". So???? Aren't we all??? At least you cop to it. Most folks spend most of their waking hours trying to cover up their fucked -upness. You said you're broke...like it matters to me. I grew up on welfare...seriously, powdered milk and grandma's canned peaches for many meals. So I spent most of my twenties working my ass off, because I was terrified of being poor. The end result? A couple of nice couches, TV's and a truck.. Big fucking deal.

I am not afraid to care about you even though I could end up on the losing end. Because you have changed the way I feel about life...You have said things to me no one has ever said before. You saw in one night, what no one has ever cared to see. Sure, I get asked out and all that...but mostly by guys who see me and think I fit some sort of blue-eyed, blonde profile. They don't see the real me. I am reading "Great Expectations" because you love it...and I came across a paragraph describing Pip's feelings the first time he meets Estella. It so perfectly suits how I feel about the night I met you that I'm gonna type it here:

"This was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it
is the same way with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it,
and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read
this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or
flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first
link on one memorable day."

That is exactly how I feel.. We were supposed to meet. So if it works out with us, it will be amazing, if not - you have inspired so much inside of me, and I will remember you forever.

Monica: On a rainy Monday morning in SLC

To be continued...

]]>Chapter 5http://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2009/11/2/chapter-5.htmlMonicaBielanko2009-11-03T03:00:24Z2009-11-03T03:00:24ZAfter a few minutes of desperately controlled breathing I lift my head. I have been sucker punched by the strongest emotions I have ever felt in my life. I grab my cell phone to text Serge: I have to come find you. I am driving to El Paso. Within minutes, as if he has been waiting for me to text those very words, he replies: Okay.

In a daze, I visit dad, who is doing well post-surgery. I tell him the entire story.
"What do you think? Should I really drive to El Paso?"
My dad looks me straight in the eyes and says, "Hell yes!"

I drive home at top speed and throw some clothes into a bag. I find my road map and look up El Paso. It’s nearly 1500 miles from Salt Lake City. A 23 hour drive! What am I thinking? Don’t think, just go I encourage myself.

I arrange for a neighbor to look after my dog and within an hour I am climbing into my truck. I speed down the freeway with my stereo playing Marah's album, the volume cranked as loud as it will go. The gray highway stretches in front of me, a ribbon of asphalt beckoning me toward my future.

At around two in the morning, after eight hours of non-stop driving, I roll wearily into Albuquerque, New Mexico. My heavy eyelids are threatening to close, my brain is a ball of mush and I’ve listened to every album I own.

I pull into the parking lot of a motel and consider checking into the dingy establishment. Serge is already in El Paso. I had told him I’d call when I arrived. I quickly nix the idea of wasting money on a dirty room when I can just sleep in the back of my truck.

I close my eyes and fantasize about the next morning. Butterflies wing rabidly around my stomach as I anticipate seeing Serge for the first time since the night we met. Will I still think he’s beautiful? Will he think I am? Will that feeling of pure magic still be there or was it the alcohol? I am so tired I drop off to sleep within minutes.

I yawn, stretch as much as my truck will allow, rub my tired eyes and check the clock on my truck stereo. The digital green numbers glow spectrally in the early light: 5:30. I yawn again, rub my neck and climb creakily into the drivers seat.

Ten minutes later I am exiting the interstate onto the southbound freeway that will lead me through Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. As I drive through the dawn warm wind blows through my open window turning my hair into a nest of knots. I smile as I contemplate the name of the tiny town and its interesting application to my current circumstance.

At 8:30 I am in El Paso. I turn into the first coffee shop I see and take my overnight case inside. I utilize the restroom to brush my teeth and hair, swipe on deodorant, apply a little make-up then sit down to make the text:

Within minutes I am circling the tall, white building in search of a parking space. I get out of my car and amble shyly toward the entrance.

The hotel is built around a courtyard overflowing with greenery. I walk up to the glass entrance, cup my hands around my eyes and peer through the hallway into the lush landscape.

Watery sunlight filters down through sweeping trees, gently illuminating a scattering of flowers nestled at their base. I take in the peaceful setting, breathing deeply in an effort to calm my nearly epileptic body. When I feel like my body will obey my mind, I try the door. It's locked.

I stand there uncertainly, peering to the right and left, down the dark corridor leading to the hotel rooms. Movement in the courtyard catches my eye. A man is striding toward me. I begin waving my arms so he’ll let me in, then I realize it’s him.

It's Serge.

He is walking toward me but doesn't see me. When he nears the glass door that will lead him from the courtyard into the hallway that separates us, he looks up. And sees me.

He freezes, eyes locked on mine. We’re staring at each other through the glass. I see my whole life in that one look. My past flashes through my mind and I think this is what it feels like to die. My heartbeat is palpable, my knees feel weak. A faraway corner of my mind marvels that the old saying "weak in the knees" is actually credible.

Although his texts and emails were charming, the memory of our night had begun to fade like an old photograph, leaving me unsure if I remembered our connection correctly. But now, gazing at him through the glass, it all comes bubbling back like lava, burning me with its fevered heat.

Serge puts up a hand in hello and I do the same. After a few more seconds of staring at each other through the glass he opens the door and ushers me into the building.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” He says in that deep, gravelly voice of his.
“Me neither.” My voice is shaking and my legs feel as if they’re going to betray me at any moment.
“Want to drive to Austin?” He asks.
“Yes.” I say simply.

To be continued...

]]>Chapter 4http://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2009/10/27/chapter-4.htmlMonicaBielanko2009-10-28T03:44:10Z2009-10-28T03:44:10ZIt's good to know I affected you in some way... that the feeling was mutual.

Monica: In a chilly newsroom in Salt Lake City
On my way to visit dad one afternoon about a week after I met Serge I manage to pop into a Virgin Megastore and buy all four of Marah’s albums. I find myself hoping I don’t like them, wanting disappointment in his music to rescind my raw, pulsating emotions. Maybe his band isn’t that good, maybe the entire night was a result of the drugs and liquor.

Ever since exchanging emails and phone numbers we had been texting each other funny little missives, sharing jokes and generally entertaining each other throughout the long hours of our days.

Through the band’s website I was well aware they were finished with Arizona, en route to Austin, Texas. Serge had sent a text with a joke about Texas and how they were stopping in El Paso for the night.

I slide Marah’s first album into my player and am immediately thunderstruck. It’s the song called Fever that Steve had been screaming for that night at the bar:

These arms, that open outTo grab a hold of anything…

The song continues shredding my already raw emotions. It ends with the lyrics:

Oh, the fever is getting badder...

I am so fucked, I tell myself. Maybe that’s the only good song on the album. I continue listening as I negotiate downtown Salt Lake City traffic at rush hour.

But the album continues to break my heart.

The lyrics thunder into my head like a freight train. The night at the bar was amazing, the music unlike anything I’d heard before, but I didn’t catch many of the lyrics.
Now I am caught up in a tornado of imagery. Beautifully crafted songs, words strung together like lights on a Christmas tree. They make everything I’ve listened to before seem trite and silly. Then The Song comes on.

I came here on a golden rocket
I’ll be leaving on a magic carpet
And now it’s “What’d you do this time?”
I’ve been livin' inside of your golden locket
I’ve been sleeping in your jacket pocket
And now, I’m just a junk drawer dream
Waitin’ by a telephone
Feeling lost and all alone
So go ahead and try to see
What I mean
Hey! Spin the rounds, won’t you point the gun
Put on your saddle shoes
And dance to the 81
Pull the trigger, turn to run
Then Father Time won’t you do your best
To mend
A broken heart… the loosened ends
Of a party night, when your story bends
And your phantom eyes tell lies to my old friends
Human highs, dehumanized, dirty tricks, dirty lies
Phantom eyes,
Repeat lies, add evil twist, increase the size

I am shaking and sweating. I feel like I’m having a heart attack or a nervous breakdown. I pull over my truck and sob into the steering wheel. I have to shut off the radio. I grip the wheel for dear life, not sure what’s happening. I’m gasping for air. Can’t get a swallow of fresh air.

After a few minutes of desperately controlled breathing I lift my head. I have been sucker punched by the strongest emotions I have ever felt in my life. I grab my cell phone to text Serge: I have to come find you. I am driving to El Paso. Within minutes, as if he has been waiting for me to text those very words, he replies: Okay.

MARAH: PHANTOM EYES
]]>Chapter 3http://thegirlwho.net/mormon-to-married-in-manhattan/2009/10/21/chapter-3.htmlMonicaBielanko2009-10-22T02:38:40Z2009-10-22T02:38:40ZWhen the emptiness in my email inbox gets the better of me, I draft the following email and hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

It's strange how I went about life, never knowing this beautiful fellow from Philly called Serge Bielanko ever existed... I certainly had a good time the other night. And thought you were spectacular in most ways that matter. But behind all that was the disheartening thought that I was just the girl for the night. Nothing significant in the grand scheme of things.

How can I articulate the craziness in my brain at this particular moment, when I may have only been a small blip on the vast expanse of your massive life experiences. And boy, have you gone out and grabbed yourself some life. I'll give it a try: I wish I could explain to you how monumental it is that you got to me. Despite the ease with which you and I hooked up the other night, that is highly uncommon for me. I don't meet people anymore that intrigue me. I know - that is sad, and a story for another time. Jesus, I'm from the Mormon/Republican capitol of the world. It's hard to find good, free-thinking folks!

You, who are so original, asked me the cliché "someone must have hurt you for you to be so bitter". Maybe - but it's also just reality. Most men I meet don't express much interest in intellect. So why would some crazy little rock'n'roller from Philadelphia, "cut from chintzy burlap", be any different? But you are. I have been reading online about you. Have fallen in love with your words. You are beautiful, the soul of a poet, with this scrappy city boy exterior. You have wrestled me in somehow, against my will, and without you even trying... Just by being your Serge self.

So perhaps I am a casualty of Band Guy On The Road and that would not surprise me. It will dovetail nicely with my impressions of men thus far in my life. Fuck, maybe you are married with kids. Whatever. Somehow you reached in and helped yourself to a huge chunk of my soul - AND I LET YOU! It hurts, I don't like it... Am not comfortable. Don't know what to do about it at this point. Perhaps nothing. Maybe you never respond. And that's the way it goes.

I'm sitting in my room listening to the Ramones - I Wanna Be Sedated. It's late morning. The Ramones are a good, get shit going in the morning band. My dog Max (a big black lab, little dogs are for the high strung, or highly sentimental) is laying on my feet, and I want to talk to you. What the fuck is going on? I met you once. Do you have this affect on women often? If so, I will feel so unoriginal. At this particular moment I like to feel as if I have a secret about this amazing, crazy man that nobody else knows. Whatever... I'm starting to feel like a jackass cuz I've really put shit out there. But fuck it. It's not like we'll run into each other at the movies next week and have an awkward moment. Might as well lay it on the line.. And it doesn't suck to be told you really made a big splash in a woman's life, right?

Monica from Salt Lake City

Four days go by. I try to continue living life normally. That proves rather difficult though. My dad had recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer. He has driven from Colorado to Salt Lake City for surgery at the world famous Huntsman Cancer Institute. I was spending all my free time in his hospital room trying to cheer him up.

I arrive at work one day and log onto Yahoo to check my email for what must be the hundredth time. There it is. My heart leaps into my throat as I see the return name of Serge Bielanko on the only email in my in box. Shaking, my fingers click the buttons and within seconds I am reading.

Hey there now Monica,
This is the first time I've been able to check email since I left Philly; I have 34 new ones, mostly ads and crap. BUT, I also have two intensely sweet ones from you. They both made me feel really lifted, the fact that you listened to my music...and that I somehow made you feel good after the time we spent. Truth is...you got to me too. I have been in a relationship for 4 years next month in some capacity. Like I texted you: since May its been pretty much on hiatus while we attempted to try and figure out when or how or if we could live in the same city sometime soon. And more importantly, whether we could find our way through the confusing swamp of damage that we left in our love's wake. Anyway...

I love that girl. I spent a lot of time trying really hard to be able to see her from faraway. We have many problems and many people think we are doomed as a couple. But I believe that somehow: I won't know just yet, not until we have one more chance.

Then I go and loosen up and decide to have a bit of a kiss on the road and I meet YOU. Monica, you are fabulous....I mean it. Sexy, sophisticated beyond what I think you even realize (which makes it cooler and sexier!), intelligent, extremely conversationally adept, well-read, hard-working, ambitious, with a a travel bug, and two very gorgeous blue eyes. Plus, you are an incredible lover. AND you like great music and food and have a truck!!!!! And a lab!!!!

SO: even though I could easily fall for you in a matter of moments perhaps, and even though I am certain that many, many, many men would tell me I am a fool from hell for not letting go of what has been so difficult for me and trying something else....I feel as if I owe it to myself and Caroline to try for real once more.

Dammit, Monica....please, please, please let’s stay connected, somehow. Or at least emails and phone calls/texts. This is all very bizarre and new to me. Goddamn, Monica......I don't know.......text me today. Please don't feel strange here if you can help it. I think you are superb. And who the hell knows where life is gonna lead any of us.......

Serge: A sunny cyber cafe in L.A.

Damn! He’s eloquent and articulate. I’d been hoping to find an email pockmarked with grammatical errors and misspellings. That turns me off a guy as quickly as it takes to read the email.

I draft the following response and hit send.

Hey now, back to you..
You are the most eloquent man I have ever had the pleasure of communicating with in all my 27 years. Now, one might say I am not well traveled and therefore your skill with words is relative to the jackass-types I meet in Utah... which ain't saying much. But I am well-read (have taken you up on Dickens) so I have some idea about beautiful writing and the ability to express yourself - in an email of all things! You compose a mighty fine email, love. Of course you have got to give it a last go with your girl. There is no question. You owe it to yourself, and her. Just make sure you're doing it because you cannot imagine spending the rest of your life without her - that no other girl could ever measure up - and not out of some obligation to the four years that came before.

You don't need my advice. You know what you're doing. And you know the right thing for you. It will all work itself out in the end. In the meantime, what can I do with myself knowing such a lovely man exists? I will have to subsist on texts/phone calls and emails. When the renewing of your relationship begins... I'll lose that, most likely. This may sound strange, but I feel like you and I are old friends... but also much more. Your words make me tremble - I literally get weak! You strike me at my core. Really. I can't believe the way you express yourself, musically, as well as in general conversation. Reading what you have written is as good as any sex I've ever had. Your tour diary... a few interviews I have found online.. your lyrics... Are you afraid yet? A girl can only be so aggressive before she scares most men off. But if I scare you, than you are not for me. I am generally not interested in men, no I'm not a lesbian (although I have had my encounters)... I just mean that most men bore me.. There is no substance. Then YOU come along and rock my world, in every way. Even if Caroline is the bird for you, I take great pleasure in knowing that someone like you is out there. I would love to stay in touch with you. How could I not? I wish you the best with Caroline even though the only thing I want is to spend a weekend locked in a hotel room with you, a few good albums, books, some good liquor, and perhaps a little weed... I feel like I could talk to you forever, and never be finished. Perhaps I am naive, but I truly have never experienced anything like this. What will happen, will happen... and I'm okay with that. It's good to know I affected you in some way... that the feeling was mutual.